Theatricalities
by Rett Nasreyc
Summary: Dr Watson and Sherlock Holmes rejoin forces to investigate the mysterious and quite frightening happenings that have been going on in a small theatre. Is the thrice-repeated term "Macbeth" really bad luck in a theatre? The boys investigate.
1. Chapter 1

**I**

I remember: 'twas a fine day in September; a usual sunny day, the world spinning gloriously, all well with nature. I had retired from my practice early, with the time planned to spend strolling about the streets of London to rediscover the taste of common Londoner life. Thus far it had been pleasant; memories of past days with my old companion – the great Sherlock Holmes – flooded back into my weary mind: times of trouble, brotherhood, and mystery. Now, my marriage had drawn us apart – me from Baker Street, him from any social avenue of English civilisation – and I regret to confess our friendship had become somewhat estranged. Well, I may have dared to express this as my feeling on this matter, but for Holmes, who would know the cocky devil's thoughts were? Even I, who I daresay knew him best, had not the slightest inclination toward Holmes' opinion of this separation; for all I'd have known, he may have even slipped back into his cocaine-fuelled wont yet again.

I had mused on this latest contemplation for some minutes when, quite suddenly, I was reintroduced into the present: a man had been struck down before me by a burglar and was badly wounded, while his attacker has seized his opportunity to escape, shoving past me and hence bringing my attention back to reality.

At this, I was torn by my two instincts: the doctor wished to help the clearly severely injured man, whilst the soldier demanded I pursue the criminal and hand him over to the official police. My compassion overpowering my militancy, and with a shout of "Fear not, I'm a doctor", I bent to attend to the wounded man. At the same moment, another man came sprinting toward me from the opposite end of the street, and launched himself over myself and my patient. As he passed, I could have sworn I heard the man say, "Good to see you Watson" before disappearing behind a building in pursuit of the burglar.

Confused at this, I returned my attention to the wounded man. He was in a bad way, and his health was deteriorating by the second. I did my best to stem the flow of blood from the gash in his head, however even these efforts were not enough to save the man. After several attempts are reviving the poor soul, I turned his care over to some witnesses and chased after the mysterious pursuer.


	2. Chapter 2

**II**

As I rounded the corner into an alley, the sight that greeted was one that I had not – in the slightest – expected to see. An elderly man – in his fifties, at the very least – was engaged in fisticuffs with a younger man, who I could easily identify as the burglar I desired to detain. This burglar was putting up quite a fight to escape his pursuer; however his attacker was not letting him slip away, countering the burglar's frenzied blows with surprising speed and power for one of his age.

Awestruck by the scene transpiring before me, I could not help but stand by and watch as these two combatants, of greatly opposing stages of life, battled each other over the matter of escape or capture. I'd even go so far as to say that it was greatly entertaining; 'twas such a brawl that I would even dare to put a wager on the old man to emerge victorious.

Quite suddenly, the older man dealt the final blow – a none-too-wild left haymaker to his opposition's head – which sent me reeling from the gambling mindset I had drifted into. The younger man crumpled, falling onto the brown paper-wrapped bag that he had stolen, spilling its contents across the cobbled way of the alley.

The trill of a police whistle startled me and I was almost tempted to run from the scene when I noticed the older man crouching to inspect the spilled contents of the package. Intrigued by this, I hesitated where I stood, and received a powerful crash-tackle from a very large police officer. Winded and slightly nauseous, I was jostled onto my stomach and my hands were shackled, and then I was hoisted roughly onto my feet, to see another policeman approach the older man.

"I don't think those shackles necessary, Constable," said an all-to-familiar voice.

I looked up to see the older man wipe lard out of his hair and peel off a fake nose, to reveal himself to be none other than the great Sherlock Holmes. The approaching officer froze, quickly assessing this new development, and turned toward the officer detaining me.

"Let him go," the officer said, and my shackles were unlocked and I was released. I walked over to my friend, whom had turned his attention back to his victim: the man had regained enough sense to attempt to crawl away from the scene.

"I do, however, believe your attentions should be turned toward this fellow," stated Holmes, planting his boot firmly upon the man's back to prohibit him movement. "I think _he_ is the felon you desire. On counts of theft and manslaughter, no less."

The two officers quickly seized and shackled the criminal, and with him, by a nod of their heads, left Sherlock Holmes and I alone together in the alley.

"I see you've been missing our little expeditions of late, my good Doctor," Holmes said, grasping my hand in a firm but friendly handshake. "Always good to meet with my former colleague again."

"Indeed, it is nice to meet, Holmes," said I, extracting my hand from his crushing grip and examining my friend's features. "You've lost weight yet again. Keep this up and you'll be little more than a twig."

"Ah, the old comedy returning. How pleasant."

I shot my friend an unamused glance, and then averted my gaze towards the entrance of the alley. "Go on then. How could you tell I've been thinking about our adventures?"

Holmes flashed me a mischievous smile, and then began his deduction, "'Tis merely but two in the afternoon, a time that one such as yourself is usually so busy tending to your patients, thus this implies that you've left your practice early to take an extended excursion around the city before catching a cab to return home. Likewise, the fact that you chose this region of town as part of your route home, a region through which Baker Street runs, as well as your moderately dreamy disposition, all contribute to the undeniable truth that you had been reminiscing about our past adventures. And let us not forget your hesitation in deciding whether or not to pursue the burglar when he had assaulted the man and escaped from the scene. You see, you are most easily read, my dear fellow."

"Oh, how I've missed you, Holmes." We stood there in contented silence for a moment, which was then broken by Holmes, again, bending down to examine the package's spilled contents. Now that I was closer, I could easily make out the items that had caught my colleague attention: the ground around me was littered with nuts and bolts and screws, most unusual items to steal due to their relatively cheap price. But the question arose: why did the man so desperately need these commonplace items that he turned to burglary to acquire them? Simultaneously, more questions formed in my head: why was Sherlock Holmes dressed in the way that he was? Did he know about this man's crime prior to his committing it? Was Holmes in the know about a bigger plan than this petty crime that had just played out?

Surely, thought I, Sherlock Holmes would never involve himself and his unique services in a crime as ordinary and, I daresay, boring as this. There had to be some other motive behind the great detective's mysterious actions.

As if sensing my questions, Sherlock Holmes pocketed a handful of the metal parts and stood, striding off out of the alley. I jogged after him and when I had caught him, Holmes had struck a match to light his clay pipe, already deep in thought. I remained silent as my friend puffed in contemplative silence as we strolled along the street.

Several minutes passed in this fashion; I was burning with an insatiable curiosity at my friend's unusual appearance, while Holmes merely stared ahead of us and smoked. Eventually, with a cough from the smoke, Holmes stopped suddenly and I was left to wonder what cause my colleague's abrupt halt.

"I deduce you are uncertain about the occurrences this afternoon Watson, so I shall try to explain to you the intricacies of what you have observed, to reveal to you all of the facts that you have, of course, blatantly missed.

"Earlier this week, I had been informed about a string of seemingly unconnected robberies, all targeting simple convenience stores and thieving items of hardware such as small tools and mechanical parts. At first, of course, this did not hold my attention, and I almost dismissed the matter entirely. It wasn't until my informant told me of the opening of the new theatre that I realised the implications of these thefts."

"The new theatre?" I enquired.

"Aye. In the old Wright building. Apparently, for the last several months the new managers have been hiring allsorts as part of their fleet of acquirers for materials to build the stage and set. You'd be surprise to know, Watson, of the amount of machinery that is necessary in a theatre for their so-called 'special effects'."

"Fascinating," I drily remarked. As much as I was interested in the mechanics of modern theatres, I was more interested by Holmes' extraordinary tale.

Sensing my exasperation, Holmes continued with his recount, "I immediately collated all the data on these serial robberies and planned my intervention. From the official police information I obtained from my informant, it appeared that these robberies would only occur at any store once – the thieves never returned to the shop. And strangely, there seemed to be a pattern in these robberies: stores from the opposite side of town from the theatre were raided first, and each consecutive foray occurred at a store closer to the theatre. As the robberies progress, the risks the thieves take – especially regarding police capture – escalate, and it seems all the more wise for these shoplifters to have a shorter escape route. This simple yet cunning plan leaves the impression that these robberies are co-ordinated, by someone either working at or for the theatre."

At this, I interjected, "Surely, though, if you suspect the theatre is behind these raids, why haven't you alerted the police force about this crime?"

"I have. Or rather, my informant has. The official police acquired a search warrant for the theatre and demanded to see the paperwork for the stolen goods. As it transpired, the theatre operators were able to produce receipts and order accounts for the equipment, materials, and personnel. The official police could o nothing else to prove the theatre's connection to these crimes, and thus it has been unofficially left over to me to solve this case and stop these robberies."

"But how come I found you as you were today?" I queried.

"With an intellect such as mine, it is hardly unexpected that I was able to determine the next store to be robbed, and on which day it was to happen, so I disguised myself and waited. I was almost convinced that the burglar would not come, but then I saw what transpired in the street with the attack and I was certain that this was the moment I had been anticipated. I worried for the poor man who had been attacked, but then you appeared and bent to help him, so without delay I chased down the criminal I desired to capture. As you can see, my dear Watson, my days have been most eventful."

By the time Holmes had finished his explanation – and most unexpected by me – we arrived, at dusk, on the doorstep of 221B Baker Street. Holmes bade me in, but I refused, "I must return home."

"Doctor Watson," Holmes interjected before I could leave, "I may require your services with this conundrum. Would you mind coming around to see me at around three in the afternoon tomorrow?"

"I'll see what I can do," I replied, and turned and walked down the street to catch a cab home.


	3. Chapter 3

**III**

I arrived at Baker Street at the arranged time the following afternoon, only to discover Holmes was out. Mrs Hudson, 221B's landlady, was kind enough to let me in and make me a hot mug of tea while I waited for my friend to return. Mrs Hudson could not explain his absence; she had seen Holmes leave earlier that day – around ten o'clock – but had not heard of him since. Accustomed as I was to Holmes' prolonged and unexplained absences, I settled into an armchair and unfolded the most recent edition of the _Chronicle_, and awaited my friend's arrival.

A fair while later, I heard the door creak open and Sherlock Holmes entered the room. Dressed as he was – in a rugged jacket and worn trousers, and sporting a cloth cap and a fake moustache – I could hardly recognise my friend, and had been momentarily worried that the man was an intruder. However, I quite quickly realised my mistake and saw Holmes clad in yet another of his fantastic disguises.

"Ah! My dear Watson," said Holmes, as he sauntered over to the door to his bedchamber, "how nice it is to see you've arrived on time. I should presume to think that it is common practice for one to apologise for their being late for an appointment?"

I nodded almost absent-mindedly at Holmes' statement, because his apparel rather caught my eye.

"However," said he, breaking my concentration from my observations, "I have not been simply idle and the data I have collected from my undertaking will undoubtedly compensate for my tardiness." Holmes then disappeared into his chambers, slamming the door shut behind him.

Collating my thoughts, I inquired, "Why are you dressed like that Holmes? I hope you are not neglecting to do your laundry."

"Ha! Another witticism from you Watson. Soon enough, and if you do not keep your humorous talents discreet, you may acquire such a collection of puns you may even be asked to perform them at the next comedy festival."

"And you shan't, my friend. And my question still stands."

Holmes emerged from his room, robed in more decent attire, and perched himself upon the arm of his favourite armchair. "You see, my dear Watson, and as I've said before, the information that I have collected may be of great importance to this case.

"This morning, I acted as a cobber desperate for work, and perused the streets asking for work in any store I could find. I knew that, where I was patrolling along Portsmouth and Fordham Streets, that there were no positions vacant in any of the stores, but I was rather hoping that my quest for work might come to the attention of one of the theatre's street recruiters."

"I don't follow," said I, slightly confused.

"Our suspect theatre employs a small force of agents to roam the streets of London and bring back anyone they find who are looking for work. Those selected must pass through a screening by an unknown jury based on their trustworthiness; this determines whether they are fit for the task of acquiring material, or, rather, are game enough to steal equipment from local stores, and whether they would confess anything to the official police should they be arrested."

"But how do you know all this?"

"Because I was selected."


	4. Chapter 4

**IV**

The confusion I felt must have been relayed through my face, for I could not fathom how Sherlock Holmes could have become entangled amongst those of whom we were trying to catch. I needn't have feared, for Holmes – as I should have known – had an explanation.

"When I searched for employment, I hoped that my plight might come to the attention of one of these agents, and surely, after I had been refused work on my fourth attempt, I was approached by, I daresay, a very nondescript and rather ordinary man. I shan't describe him in more detail, for he is of no further importance to my recount. He told me that if I was desperate for work, I could find work at the new theatre. He gave me the address and instructed me that when I arrived there to ask for a man named Egeus, who would inform me of my duties should I wish to accept them. I travelled to the theatre, which has been titled '_Il Luogo Spazioso_', which, in Italian, is 'The Spacious Place', and asked for the man named Egeus. I was led into a small tea room and told to wait with seven other men, whom, I assume, had also been recruited from off the streets.

"A man then walked into the room and addressed the assembled employees. He was dressed in a white loose-fitting shirt, with black leggings and black knee-high leather boots. He also donned a large bearskin cloak and a white theatre half-mask. Obviously, this man wished to keep his identity a secret should any of his employees be arrested and speak out against him.

"This man stood before us, and with a slight Italian accent, he spoke, 'Welcome, my friends! I am the Egeus you have been told to meet. You may be wondering why you have been invited to this place; why, in the attempt of acquiring employment, you men have been selected for these roles. Your tasks are simple: each of you will be shown a list of materials you are required to obtain, and from which stores you shall retrieve them. We shall not provide you with a means to aid you in your quest; the means are left to you to decide. Our only interest is the acquisition of these materials and raiding of the designated stores. You may not ask why we desire what we do; you are only required to do what has been requested. Further investigation into our plans is strictly forbidden, and the engagement in which shall result in more than your wage not being paid. Now, please see the men at the door for the details of your tasks.'

"At that, he turned on his heel and swept out of the room. Intrigued as I was by the mysteriousness of this man, I noticed a plain door at the back of the room and chose to escape through it. It opened into a slim corridor with another plain door at its end. So, I followed the corridor, but stopped because I could hear the distinctive sound of voices – one of which I could easily identify as the mysterious Egeus. I tried the door, only to find it locked, but only by a simple Yale tumbler lock. I can never truly express to you, Watson, the expediency of a lock-picking kit. It has come in such use for many of our cases.

"It took me little time to pick the lock, and I soon found myself stepping through the open door and almost colliding with a large pile of wooden crates. The voices were very much louder and clearer now I had entered the room of their origin, and I silently hid behind the crates so I could listen to what these voices were saying. I discovered a gap between the stacked crates which allowed me to see the whole of the room I was in: it was small, to say the least, with clothes racks lining indentations in the walls, and outfits of varying style and era were hung upon them or overflowed from crates similar to those behind which I was hiding. No doubt this was a dressing room for the actors. An open doorway led from the opposite wall of the room onto the stage, thus confirming my suspicions of this room's purpose.

"My attentions, however, were returned to the room of my situation, for Egeus and another man were in an agitated discussion. The other man reported that of the eight recruits employed this morning, only seven had reported themselves for their tasking and deployment. The eighth, said the man, had disappeared from the room beforehand, but had not been seen exiting the building. This did nothing to calm Egeus, for he then bellowed, 'So, he must still be in the theatre! Find him!' He then turned and stormed out of the wardrobe, followed, very hesitantly, by the other man.

"I waited for a moment, and, when the way seemed clear, stole out of the room, keeping considerable distance between my mark and myself. I watched Egeus stroll onto the stage; curious, I spotted a suspended platform connected by a set of wooden steps along one wall to the side of the auditorium. A flowing black cloth was draped over the rails of the platform and stairs, providing concealment as I snuck onto the platform to gain a better viewpoint over my surroundings and target.

"When I reached my destination and found a slit in the cloth through which I could see, Egeus spoke once more, 'Is the device ready?'

"'Aye, it is, Sir.'

"'Good. Order the room cleared. I want to test the device.'

"'As you wish, Sir.'

"The other man raised his voice only slightly, but it was enough to echo around the auditorium due to its excellent resonance, and almost instantly the room emptied. Only then, I ashamedly admit, did I notice the room's contents: the chairs were of aluminium construction – sturdy but moulded into a comfortable shape with small cushions attached to the seat and back – and the rows were all connected by a strip of aluminium on either side of the column, connecting all the seats from the top row through to the bottom row. And attached to the ceiling was a large aluminium dish with a thick copper rod protruding from the centre, linked to a wad of insulated copper wires that were bound together and strung from the dish to somewhere through the rear wall of the auditorium. Owing to the lighting of the room, the ceiling was cast in all but shadows, and thus the objects installed there could not be easily seen except by a keen eye like my own.

"A loud mechanical noise, like the whining of a steel wheel, suddenly echoed throughout the building, gradually building in pitch and intensity, so much so I had to cover my ears. I detected light flashing above my head, and I looked up to see sparks dancing along the surface of the dish. These sparks grew longer and more frequent until a surge of power combined them all to shoot a bolt of pure electricity from the ceiling down onto the chairs. I tell you Watson, it was like they had harnessed the power of the sky; it was as if they had captured lightning and forced it to strike. I have never seen anything quite like it."

"I wager you were amazed by it," I conjectured.

"Oh Watson, I was transported! I was awestruck by the ingenuity and engineering brilliance of it. The gigantic spark was projected onto the chairs, sending a pulse of electricity through all the chairs due to the strip of aluminium connecting all the rows and seats. Why, that amount of electricity would be enough to electrocute anyone sitting in any of those chairs. This was a weapon, my dear Watson, and a fearsome one at that. The design of this machine was no mean feat, and certainly not one that could be produced by a simple theatre company. Many questions exploded in my mind Watson, questions that I could not possibly attempt to deduce answers to without further investigation.

"However, these questions were not the most pressing element on my mind: I had overstayed my welcome at my vantage point and somehow I had been discovered. Two henchmen were lumbering up the stairs toward me, and I had to act. With my expansive skill of the various martial arts, I quickly dispatched the first with a jab to the stomach and a palm to his nose, sending him rolling back down the steps from whence he came. The second man was faster and more agile, and launched himself upon me, tackling me to the ground. At such proximity, I could recognise the man as he who had been just talking with Egeus and decided to pick-pocket him in case he possessed anything of value regarding this case. I managed to throw him off via a blow to the side of the head, and stood to assess my options for escape. There was a blacked-out skylight above me, which I could easily reach by jumping up from the rail of the platform. Fortunately, the window was unlocked and I managed to roll outside onto the roof and made my way back to Baker Street."

I sat and digested Holmes' anecdote. After a moment of contemplation, I queried, "Were you tracked back here? Are you sure that no one knew who you were?"

Holmes chuckled – in a rather condescendingly manner, I detected – and then, with a shake of his head, swept the questions aside. "Surely, Watson, since you could hardly recognise me – and your being the man who would most easily do so – I am certain that nobody at the theatre could have. And regarding your suspicions about me being tracked back here, I do think I would know how to lose a tail should I even acquire one."

We sat in silence once more, and then another question entered my mind. "Did you find anything on the man you pick-pocketed?"

"Ah, at last a decent enquiry from you Watson," said Holmes, retrieving a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. "This is what I discovered on the man. Read it and tell me what you can deduce."

Holmes tossed me the folded paper, which I caught, unfolded, and then read. It went something like this:

_Good day, kind Sir._

_We at Il Luogo Spazioso would like to invite you to our opening evening, at which we shall present to you the Shakespearean classic "Macbeth"._

_This event shall be just for yourselves, and you shall be complimented with a banquet to conclude the night._

_We greatly anticipate your attendance on the 23__rd__ September at seven o'clock._

_Yours truly,_

_The directors at Il Luogo Spazioso._

"I do not understand. This is simply an invitation for selected people to see the first performance by the theatre. What is sinister about this?"

"As always Watson, you see but you do not observe. You have missed everything of importance from this invitation, and everything you have missed all contributes to a very despicable plot. Murder, I say, shall be committed on the twenty-third of September, and we, Watson, are the only people who can put a stop to it."


	5. Chapter 5

**V**

"I do not follow," said I, confused at my companion's accusation. "How can this invitation to a performance double as an invitation to death?"

Holmes shook his head and emitted a sigh of exasperation. "Oh Watson, how dull it must be inside you dull ordinary mind. Let me unpack this invitation for you:

"To begin with, the 'Sir' indicates this invitation is addressed to a male, a male who should be shown deference or this particular terminology would not be exercised. Similarly, only important men would receive a feast at the completion of a night such as this. Now, assuming, like most invitations, this is addressing several men, we should think it is intended for a group or an organisation comprised of men. Now think Watson, what group of important men should receive an invitation to an opening play?"

My mouth spat out the first answer that formed in my mind: "Parliament?"

"I should not think so. The opening of a small theatre performing such a play, especially such a political play, would not be of the interest of the cabinet. No, I believe these invitations are to be sent to the board members of other theatres in this district of the city. If my hypothesis of murder would prove correct, and the heads of other theatre companies eliminated, _Il Luogo Spazioso_ will have no troubles dissolving their competition and becoming the most successful theatre in this region. How they could excuse the murders, I cannot fathom, but with a plan so elaborate as this, simple pleas of innocence against murder charges may already be prepared. I assume you are familiar with the theatrical superstition that the name 'Macbeth' repeated thrice in a theatre brings bad fortune? Perhaps this is the pretext they will use to both commit the crime and excuse themselves from the blame. This could be very easily employed due to their selected performance.

"In terms of my suspicions of murder, and as I have previously stated, the machine that I saw trialled today would easily electrocute any amount of people seated on any, probably all, of the chairs. Therefore, if the board members of other theatres were to be watching the performance and the machine were to be activated, everyone in the audience would be murdered, thus eliminating competition for _Il Luogo Spazioso_."

"And also will save the theatre the money on a banquet afterwards," I injected, finally realising the deadly potential of Holmes' allegation.

"Exactly. Now that we have that understood, perhaps we should inform Lestrade."


End file.
